


Hermione Granger & the Philosopher's Stone

by eccenox



Series: Hermione Granger's Story [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, My First Fanfic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-21 19:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccenox/pseuds/eccenox
Summary: Writing the series from Hermione's POV. In the first chapter, the Grangers get a small strange visitor.





	1. The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This is an early draft and my first fanfic, so any feedback is encouraged. Still a WIP.

##  CHAPTER ONE: The Visitor  
  
  


When the doorbell rang, Hermione had no idea this would be a life-changing evening. She was simply sitting on the couch across from the fireplace and working through some practice algebra problems, when the ringing interrupted her train of thought. 

She heard her father walking down the hall going to address the visitor, though, so she refocused and scanned her textbook for the correct question again. She had just put her pencil against the paper again, when her father's startled exclamation at the doorway caught her attention. "Oh!" he had said, and Hermione heard him take a step back. 

They weren't expecting any visitors to begin with, she realized, and her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. As she was setting her book down, she heard another, somewhat squeaky, voice.

"Yes, down here," the visitor piped. Then, "not a problem, not at all!" in response to her father's apologies.

Hermione peeked down the hall toward the front door. In the doorway, there stood the smallest man she had ever seen. The man did not even reach her father's waist, and he looked very old— white hair extended down his face into a messy beard. He wore a sharp, olive green suit that Hermione thought must've been made for a child.

"Are you Mr. Granger?" he asked in his high pitched voice as he craned his neck upward.

"Er, yes," her father responded, clearly taken aback by the bizarre size and appearance of the unexpected visitor.

"Wonderful, and would Mrs. Granger and perhaps, young Hermione, be here as well?"

"Yes, how do you know us?"

"All will be explained, I assure you. But, I think it may be best to address all three of you at once."

"I think I'd rather know what business you have here first," Mr. Granger said, beginning to sound less startled and more suspicious. Is this some sort of joke? Halloween was many months away.

"Very well... I'd like to notify you that your daughter, Hermione, has been accepted to a very...  _ unique _ school. If I may, please, come in and explain the details."   


  
  


A few moments later, the three Grangers sat on the couch, with the visitor across from them in cushioned chair. The small man sat on the very edge of his seat and his feet dangled between the four of them. 

Mr. Granger cleared his throat.

"We're very happy with Hermione's current school, and we haven't sent applications to any new schools," she said with a confused look.

"Yes, well. My name is professor Filius Flitwick. You haven't heard of the school in which I teach, but Hermione has been already accepted. I've been sent to answer any and all questions you will, no doubt, have for me," he told them with a reassuring smile. "I've got an acceptance letter here for you, Ms. Granger, but it may come as a bit of a shock."

Hermione found this whole ordeal rather odd but couldn't imagine what the letter might contain that would cause her “shock”. Although, she was intrigued when Flitwick handed it over to her.

The letter was hand-written on thick parchment and sealed with red wax. On the seal was a large, fancy letter "H". She broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and held it up so that her parents could read along with her:

  
  


HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall (sig)

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

  
  


"But, professor Flitwick, sir. Witchcraft... isn't real," Hermione said, trying her best to sound polite. She was beginning to worry for this man's sanity.

Mrs. Granger, eyes still on the letter, asked, "Is this a joke?"

"Precisely what I wondered," Mr. Granger murmured.

"Yes, I'm aware it must seem that way, but I assure, it is not a joke. I'm here to prove this to you. Please, don't worry, but I'm going to perform a little magic," Flitwick said as he unbuttoned his blazer and pulled a short wooden stick from his pocket. 

Hermione briefly wondered how the stick had fit in Flitwick's rather small-looking pocket, but she was quickly overcome by concern. Did this man think he was some sort of magician? Does he need help? Is he a danger to us? 

Before she could articulate these thoughts, however, Flitwick had turned around to face the crackling fireplace and began to move the stick through the air. At once, the flames changed. Instead of flickering orange and yellow, they turned a violent shade of purple.

The Grangers were shocked, but not at all convinced. Surely there was some trick to it. He had probably tossed some substance into the fire that had caused the color to change. 

When Mrs. Granger expressed that very thought, Flitwick responded, "Hmm. Fair enough, but how about this?" 

He swished the piece of wood through the air, then flicked it toward Hermione's algebra textbook. The book trembled for a split second, and then began to rise through the air.

"Be careful with that!" Hermione couldn't help but say. (She did have homework to do after all.) But Flitwick offered another reassuring smile.

"The—" he glanced at the title, "— _ algebra _ book will be quite fine, Ms. Granger. Please, take a look at it."

The Grangers glanced at each other when Flitwick pronounced algebra with a hard "G", but Flitwick seemed not to notice. He gestured for her to inspect the book still floating in the air. 

Hermione stood and ran her hand along the top and bottom of it, feeling for any damage to the book or hidden wires that might be suspending it. She felt none, nor did her parents when they tried.

  
  


It took several more miraculous occurrences for the Grangers to admit that magic, might,  _ perhaps _ be real. By the end of an hour, Flitwick had turned Hermione's pencil into slug that had left a sticky trail along the table, made a pillow sprout a mane and roar, and revealed the true appearance of his clothing — the same olive green colored fabric, but draped down him as velvety robes, paired with a green, pointed hat.

After all these grand displays and the revelation that magic did indeed exist, Flitwick began to press upon the next fact: Hermione, herself, was a witch.

"Have you ever made things happen that you couldn't explain?" he asked Hermione.

She exchanged a look with her parents. There had been several years in which her parents had not allowed her to go trick-or-treating with the other children. As dentists, her parents frowned deeply upon sugary snacks and wanted none of them in the house.

However, each year she was not allowed to go out, the Grangers would wake up the next morning to a kitchen full of sweets. The silverware was replaced with lollipops. Pots and pans became cakes and cookies. When a cupboard was open, hundreds of candies would fall out. Mr. and Mrs. Granger would question Hermione afterwards, but she always denied any knowledge of what had happened. They couldn't even see how she  _ could've _ done it. 

But, eventually, they grew tired of replacing all their kitchenware once a year. They let Hermione go trick-or-treating, and the kitchenware would be quite the same the next morning.

Of course, Hermione never dreamed that  _ she _ was filling the kitchen with sweets. She couldn't figure out what had happened either. 

But now, professor Flitwick has told her that she is a witch. And, going against all her gut instincts, she was beginning to believe him. It looked like her parents were, too. And Hermione began to burst with hundreds of questions. 

  
  


Professor Flitwick stayed for several more hours, patiently answering Hermione's many questions. They went over the second page of her acceptance letter, which contained a list of required supplies. Together they agreed on a date to meet a Hogwarts official in London, who would guide Hermione through buying the supplies. 

When Flitwick finally left, it was very late. Night had fallen and the three Grangers still sat in the living room, dumbstruck. Each feared they had suffered some sort of hallucination.

When Hermione eventually climbed into bed, her mind was swimming. Could she really be a witch? She decided she wouldn't know if Flitwick had been real at all, until her London visit. If she continued to see proof of this supposed magical world and all those magical items, she would allow herself to believe it. 

This decision did not stop her sheer excitement, though.  _ She might be a witch! _ She barely slept at all that night, and her dreams were full of magic wands, purple flames, levitating books, and growling pillows.


	2. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing the series from Hermione's POV. In the second chapter, a Hogwarts official takes Hermione school shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an early draft and my first fanfic, so any feedback is encouraged. Still a WIP.

##  CHAPTER TWO: Diagon Alley

  
  


Hermione laid in bed and read the acceptance letter for what may have been the hundredth time. The heavy parchment was showing signs of wear because she had kept it with her everyday, frequently unfolding it and absorbing its contents again when she suspected no one would see. 

As the days had passed, she began to focus more on the letter's second page:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

  
  


UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

  1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
  2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
  4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

  
  


Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus (sig)

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

  
  


Hermione couldn't fathom a place that sold all of these items nor sell them under the noses of non-magical people, but she was eager to see it. 

As the date for her school shopping approached, Hermione had many, varying emotions. At times, she still couldn't convince herself that professor Flitwick was telling the truth. It all seemed too absurd. 

Other times, she felt certain that she was a witch. She could feel some sort of magic in her flesh. During these times, Hermione couldn't stop her mind from imagining all the vast possibilities for a magical society. 

All the  _ not knowing _ about a whole new world got under her skin, starting as a sort of small itch and becoming increasingly irritable until it was nearly excruciating. Meeting with another Hogwarts official and buying such odd supplies would only begin to satisfy this itch. 

She was hungry for more knowledge of the magical world, and the week dragged by slowly. She found herself far less interested in her regular studies. 

But, finally, the day had come. Someone was supposed to meet her here, today, at ten in the morning. By eight o'clock, she was out of bed, fully dressed, teeth brushed, and impatient to leave. She killed time by attempting to read from one of the fairly dry dentistry books that littered the Grangers’ bookshelves, though she found it difficult to muster through the sentences. Until, finally, the door rang.

  
  


"Hello. Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus, lovely to meet you," the Hogwarts official said. She was a thin, frail-looking woman, with thick, curly brown hair down to her shoulders, though many strips of grey could be seen as well. In her hand was a small, lavender handbag that matched her narrow skirt and her ruffled blouse.

"Are you ready, Hermione?" she asked tenderly.

"Absolutely!" Hermione kissed her parents goodbye and departed with Lucinda. She had even more questions to ask and it seemed like they were multiplying by the second. 

It was unclear to Hermione how Lucinda had gotten here, as the only cars nearby belonged to her parents or her neighbors. At the end of the drive, Hermione asked, "How will we be getting to London?" 

"The Knight Bus," Lucinda replied frankly. Of course, Hermione had no idea what the Knight Bus was. She didn't think her house was on a bus line, and she hadn't bought a ticket. Lucinda stopped by the street and began digging through her handbag. Hopefully, Hermione thought, Luncinda would be rummaging for two bus tickets.

But what Lucinda pulled from her seemingly too-small handbag was evidently another wand, similar to professor Flitwick's, except it was white and very narrow and straight. Lucinda stuck the wand out toward the street, and before long a bus appeared in front of them. It seemed to have been travelling at an irresponsible speed, but Hermione was grateful nevertheless for not having to endure another wait.

The bus was similar to traditional British buses, but it was a tripledecker bus and painted a bright shade of purple. It pulled up right outside the Grangers' house and the door near the front of it opened. Inside, stood a tall, thin young man wearing a navy uniform who began a well-rehearsed introduction:

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this morning. Where might our driver, Ernie Prang, be taking you today?"

"The Leaky Cauldron, please," Lucinda replied.

"'Course!"

Stan guided the two on board. The Knight Bus did not have the sort of bus seats Hermione had seen them before, but instead there were haphazard rows of wooden and cushioned chairs, most of which were unoccupied. Lucinda and Hermione took two seats near the front.

"It'll be about five or six stops. Ernie's pretty busy this morning," Stan said despondently. 

"Not a problem," said Lucinda.

"Hot chocolate?" Stan offered. "For a couple sickles?"

"Um. No, not this time Stan."

"Right, right. I remember now. You got that stain out like I said though, yeah? Easy spell, easy."

"Yes, it's quite fine now, thanks."

"Right. We'll be off then!" Stan announced. Some other occupants, an elderly couple, a few lone witches and wizards, and a woman with her son, nodded in acknowledgment. 

Many seemed to grip the sides of their chairs as if bracing themselves. And, Hermione soon understood why. With a lurch, the bus gained speed faster than any non-magical bus would've. It sped down the street, turned into a busy intersection, ran through a red light and zigzagged around the other vehicles. She could feel the bus—and herself along with it—shrinking and stretching to fit in small gaps. Sometimes lampposts or mailboxes would jump out of the way as the bus approached, only to move back into position as the bus continued to speed away. Meanwhile, the chairs on the bus, which were not bolted down, skidded forward and back. Passengers collided with many disgruntled murmurs and apologies. 

Hermione was thrilled by the display of magic but also concentrating hard to avoid her chair toppling over as the bus dipped and dived to its different stops. However, she still managed to slip in some questions for Lucinda during the relatively calm periods of time during which passengers loaded and unloaded.

"Ms. Thomsonicle-Pocus," she asked, "what is it that you do for Hogwarts? My letter says that you are the 'Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions'. What does that mean?"

"Yes, Ms. Granger, that is my title. In practice, it means that I take charge of procuring any supplies that Hogwarts needs. I also approve the lists of necessary equipment sent to students before the school year."

After another short period of lurching, Hermione began again, "And, what sort of supplies do professors require throughout the year?" She was looking to glean any information she could about the school and classes themselves.

"Oh, anything. All of it. Potions ingredients, any sort of creature we may be needing, plants for the greenhouses. And, not just the classes need supplies. Kitchen and cleaning things as well. Madam Pomfrey—she runs the medical unit—often needs new balms. We always want to keep her stocked for any mishap that might occur."

"What sort of creatures does Hogwarts need?"

"Well, anything for the Care of Magical Creatures class. The occasional creature for Defense Against the Dark Arts practice. And then whatever Hagrid's up to—he's the gameskeeper. He's always mucking around with different creatures, though not all of them are acquired... properly."

Hermione detected a note of disapproval with the last portion of Lucinda's response, but she didn't get the chance to ask about it. Another passenger had just departed, and Hermione's chair was slipping towards the back of the bus again. Eventually, Hermione could speak again.

"What is 'The Leaky Cauldron'?" she asked.

"It's a bar, but it serves as a sort of gate to our own place to shop. We're just pulling up now," Lucinda said as the bus pulled to a rough stop outside a dingy looking pub. The building was so covered in grime, it seemed as if it had been built hundreds of years ago and then forgotten until that morning.

"Leaky Cauldron!" Stan shouted.

Lucinda and Hermione, as well as the mother and her son, stood up and readied to hop off the bus. At the door, Stan held out his hand, and Lucinda dug around in her bag to retrieve a handful of bronze coins. Just as they all got off, the bus's doors slammed and it zoomed out of sight.

A thought occurred to Hermione. "What if a non-magical person enters the bar?" she asked.

"Not a problem, muggles can't see the Leaky Cauldron at all."

"Muggles?"

"That's what we call non-magical people."

"Are many magical people born into non-magical families?"

"Plenty. You won't be the only muggle-born at Hogwarts, I assure you. And I never tire of showing muggle-borns their first glimpse of the wizarding world," Lucinda said with a warm smile. "Besides, I think you'll catch on quick. You're a curious one."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that, but she was pleased to hear it. She supposed Lucinda was used to answer un-ending questions from students who barely know the wizarding world at all.

They were in the bar now, and it was unsurprisingly dirty with dim lighting. Many witches and wizards sat about wearing unusual clothing. Despite the early hour, some were drinking as well. Hermione caught snippets of conversation as they slipped through the crowd.

"—haven't got 8 galleons—"

"—'Arry Potter in here just a few days ago, I swear he even—"

"—told you not to do that, 'Dung. Not here."

"More students, then?" asked the barman behind the counter as they passed.

"Yes, Tom. Every year," Lucinda replied. She led Hermione to a small, walled-in courtyard around the back of the bar. Once there, she pulled out her wand again and tapped one particular brick. The brick began to wobble and then it seemed to get sucked backwards leaving a small, rectangular hole. Other bricks followed suit, folding backwards until eventually, Hermione and Lucinda stood in front of a large archway. 

Beyond the opening was the most unbelievable sight Hermione had ever come across. An alley sprawled out in front of them containing dozens of shops. Everything from the Magical Menagerie, which displayed in its window a variety of furry, scaley, and feathery creatures all hooting and howling, to the Apothecary which emenated a gamey, pungent smell and had a sign advertising dragon liver. A whole pile of cauldrons were stacked outside one shop. Hermione's eyes were drawn to a shop called Flourish and Blotts from which a steady stream of school-aged children carried piled of books. Other witches and wizards were walking to and fro, going about their daily shopping and errands. Lucinda watched Hermione take in the scene, seemingly delighted at the awe on her face. 

"This," Lucinda said with a grin, "is Diagon Alley."

"Oh, it's wonderful," Hermione said.

"Come on. We must go to Gringotts." Lucinda took Hermione’s hand and they delved into the fray.

  
  


Gringotts was maybe the tallest building in the whole of Diagon Alley. It was marble-white with huge bronze doors that towered in front of them. 

"Gringotts is the wizarding bank. It's run by goblins," Lucinda told Hermione. "We'll need to exchange your muggle money for wizarding money here."

"Goblins?" Hermione exclaimed. This was the first she had heard about other magical beings. Sure enough, beside the front doors of Gringotts, stood a goblin—slightly shorter than her with large pointed ears and long fingers wearing a scarlet and gold uniform. He bowed as they passed through the outer doors. A second doorway had similar, silver doors, but these were engraved with:

_ Enter, stranger, but take heed _

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed, _

_ For those who take, but do not earn, _

_ Must pay most dearly in their turn, _

_ So if you seek beneath our floors _

_ A treasure that was never yours, _

_ Thief, you have been warned, beware _

_ Of finding more than treasure there. _

"What does that mean—'of finding more than treasure there'?"

"Gringotts' vaults are below this building and they have all sorts of charms and magical protections on them to keep any invaders or thieves away. There are even rumors of dragons guarding some of the biggest vaults! Who knows though. The goblins, wisely I think, don't share their secrets with just anyone."

"Do all the protections work?"

"Until a few days ago yes. It's thought of as the safest place in the wizarding world for valuables, but recently one vault seems to have been broken into. It's odd, the Daily Prophet said nothing was taken. That the vault had already been emptied. Still, though, Gringotts has a good track record."

Two more goblins bowed at them as they passed through the second set of doors into a massive hall with high ceilings and dozens of offshoots into various offices. Down the center was a long, tall counter behind which sat many goblins all doing various works of wizarding banking—inspecting jewels, writing with quills on large scrolls of parchment, speaking with and escorting visiting witches and wizards, and counting and weighing odd assortments of coins. 

Hermione had to remind herself not to leave her mouth agape as they approached a goblin at the counter. He sat on a tall stool and gazed down at them as they neared.

"Hello, we'd like to exchange some muggle money," Lucinda said.

"Yes, of course," the goblin replied. 

  
  


A short while later, Hermione was outside the bank with a small sack full of wizarding money in her hands. She had frowned as Lucinda had explained to her the different coins. There are golden galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts which is all fine enough. But each sickle was worth 29 knuts and each galleon worth 17 sickles. It seems the wizarding world had made the math very complicated for themselves, but she didn't say that aloud for fear of sounding rude.

She didn't worry about that for long, though, because Lucinda was leading her toward their next destination: Ollivander's Wand Shop.

"To me, getting the wand is always the most exciting part of school shopping for first-years. Muggleborns sometimes have trouble believing they're magical at all," she said, giving Hermione a shrewd look. "And holding a wand seems to alleviate that fear."

Needless to say, Hermione was excited too. They entered to find a shop that reminded her of a muggle shoe shop except about a hundred years older than any shoe shop she had seen. It was piled high with small rectangular boxes, though the boxes were much more narrow than a shoebox. Many piles were dusty and surprisingly little light came through the windows, which gave the whole shop an eerie feeling. It was also very quiet, and Hermione wondered if they had accidentally wandered into a shop that had closed for lunch. Until, she saw an old man peer at her from behind a pile of boxes.

"Ah, Lucinda! You've brought me another first-year," he said. He had wide, light-blue eyes.

"Yes, Ollivander, this is Hermione Granger. She'll be needing a wand of course," Lucinda replied.

"Of course." 

"Lovely to meet you, sir," Hermione said.

"Muggleborn, I suppose?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes, how could you tell?" she asked, slightly nervous.

"Only that I know most every witch and wizard in all of Britain. I made and sold them their wands. I remember each and every wand I've sold. But you're an unfamiliar face. Always a wonderful challenge to find a new wand for a muggleborn. Tell me, which is you wand arm?"

"Um. I write with my right hand. Does that help?"

"It does indeed."

Mr. Ollivander disappeared into the back of the shop, but Hermione could still hear him rummaging through various piles. He came back with nearly a half dozen boxes and set them down in front of her.

"Well, give them a wave!" he said.

Hermione found distinctly different wands in each box. She took one out and waved it, though she was unsure how she was supposed to waving it. 

"What is it we're trying to do?" she asked Ollivander.

"Oh, we'll see. We'll see."

Hermione continued down the line of boxes, waving and waving. Occasionally, she'd notice a slight fizzle or faint humming or some other barely noticeable sensation, but at first most of the wands did absolutely nothing. Ollivander kept rustling around in the back of the shop, coming back with yet another armful of wands for Hermione to wave. Each time though, it seemed more wands would react to her and the reactions would get a bit stronger, as if Ollivander was honing in on some traits for a wand that would work. Until, eventually, one wand emitted a fountain of silvery-blue stars.

"Aha! A wand has chosen you, Ms. Granger. Vine wood, ten and three-quarters inches, with a dragon heartstring core. A bit of a temperamental wand, perhaps, but I think you'll be doing powerful things with it. Very powerful. Quite an interesting one you are."

Hermione gazed at the wand. It was carved with a beautiful vine pattern, and—it felt silly to admit—she loved the wand already. Seeing the stars emit from it was a huge relief, and she happily paid the seven galleons for it.

"So, what do you think? Are you a witch?" Lucinda asked Hermione as they exited the shop. Hermione just grinned.

"Good," Lucinda said. "Then let's tackle the rest of the list."

They turned to the supplies list and started working down it. At Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Hermione got fitted for her robes, hat, and cloak. At the Apothecary, she got dragon hide gloves, phials, and scales. She got a pewter cauldron at Potage's Cauldron Shop. On the way, she picked up quills and ink at Scribbulus Writing Instruments. Finally, they walked into Flourish and Blotts to get her books.

She was enamored instantly. Everywhere were piles of books, many piled all the way to the ceiling. Some new arrivals had pristine covers, but there were also older books that had yellowed slightly and were dusty. All the books, though, looked to Hermione to be unbearably interesting. Each contained a topic she had likely never heard of. By the time Lucinda could get her out of the shop an hour later, Hermione had picked up all her school books as well as quite a few extra that she hadn't been able to put down. Lucinda tucked the huge stack of books into her small handbag, confirming Hermione's suspicion that it was somehow magically enhanced.

"Have you thought about a pet yet?" Lucinda asked her. "You can bring along a cat, an owl, or a toad if you'd like."

Hermione frowned. She had spent extra money on books and wasn't sure she could afford a pet also. On top of that, she had been so enthralled with the idea of her upcoming magical excursion, that she hadn't spoken with her parents about getting a pet. She doubted they would like if she just waltzed back home with a new owl hooting loudly in a cage.

"I think I'll put that off for another year," Hermione said.

"Fair enough. I think we're done then!"

Hermione was sad to leave, but she had been right. This trip had solidified in her mind that she was indeed a witch. As they wound their way back through the Leaky Cauldron and onto the Knight Bus, Hermione couldn't help smiling to herself. Lucinda brought her home and gave her parents instructions for the beginning of the school year. As soon as she left, Hermione went to her room and stayed up all night reading and reading.


	3. The Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing the series from Hermione's POV. In the third chapter, Hermione nervously boards the Hogwarts Express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an early draft and my first fanfic, so any feedback is encouraged. Still a WIP.

## CHAPTER THREE: The Hogwarts Express

The day had finally come, and Hermione had never been more nervous. Even though Lucinda had assured her that there were plenty of muggleborn students and they all caught onto their studies fine, Hermione couldn't help but feel behind. Most other first-years would already know the basics of the wizarding world. 

And what if Hermione was so dreadfully idiotic that she was kicked out of Hogwarts? She knew from _ Hogwarts: A History _ that most expelled students were forbidden to perform magic ever again, and she didn't think she could bear that. Her mind wandered down this alternative timeline in which she knew she could perform magic but wasn't allowed to. It would be absolutely miserable to live as a muggle, now that she knew about the wizarding world. Worse yet, she might convince herself that this had all been a dream or delusion cooked up by her eleven-year-old self and forever doubt her sanity.

No, this was her chance to live in a magical life, and she was determined to succeed at it. She had nearly memorized all her textbooks by now, hoping that would be a solid foundation for when classes actually began. And they were so fascinating that it hadn't felt like a chore at all. She poured over the books when she had any free time at all and reviewed the content in her mind when she was forced to do anything else.

But even still, she was nervous as she sat in the back seat, staring up at station her parents had just pulled in front of. Her father got her trunk from the back and the three of them walked into King's Cross Station.

Lucinda had given them instructions on how to enter the platform—platform nine and three-quarters, but it was still an odd affair. Each Granger had to run straight into one of the columns between platforms nine and ten. Mr. Granger first, with Hermione's trunk, Hermione, and then Mrs. Granger. They were all awed when they looked around.

A giant, scarlet steam engine labelled "The Hogwarts Express" was at the platform already. They were an hour early, but already several other students were loading their trunks into the luggage compartments. Hermione did the same, with help from her parents, and then they watched as the station began to fill up with eager students and steam. Before long, it was time to depart, so Hermione kissed her parents goodbye and, with butterflies in her stomach, began to pick a compartment to join.

As she walked down the train, she eventually found a compartment with friendly-looking faces and a free seat. There was a round-faced boy who looked possibly more nervous than Hermione and a tall pair of twin girls with long black hair who each had a cat. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi. Would you all mind if I have a seat?"

"Not at all," said one of the twins, gesturing to a seat next to the boy. Hermione took the seat.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "It's my first year..."

"Mine too," said the boy miserably. "I'm Neville."

"And we're Parvati and Padma Patil, first years too," said Parvati, though she was much more cheerful. "We were just asking Neville what he thinks his house will be."

Neville looked uncomfortable. "Well, my Gran wants me in Gryffindor. But, privately, I'm hoping for Hufflepuff."

Hermione had read extensively about the four Hogwarts houses and their predominant traits. She could see herself in just about any house except Hufflepuff, though she didn't think she'd ever be sorted into Slytherin either. Ambition is the key trait of Slytherins, so theoretically that applied to Hermione. But, she felt fairly certain muggleborns were rarely—if ever—sorted into Slytherin. Salazar just wouldn't have wanted it.

"Hufflepuff?" Padma scoffed. "I'd prefer Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Parvati agrees. What about you?"

"Yes, I think I'm suited for one of those two. Though, I think I'd prefer Gryffindor over Ravenclaw just little," Hermione replied.

Then they lapsed into an awful silence, which was eventually broken by Neville.

"You haven't seen a toad, have you?"

The three looked at Hermione, so she guessed he had already asked the twins this question.

"No, I haven't," she said. She couldn't imagine losing her pet, especially so early. What if it had been left at the station?

Neville looked grim and stared at his hands. 

"Alright, thanks anyway," he murmured.

"Er. Well—have you checked the compartments?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I might as well." And Neville sulked out of the compartment, leaving Hermione with the twins. 

They made small talk, but it wasn't long before Hermione got the feeling wouldn't become close friends with the Patils. They both seemed especially excited to learn Divination in their third year, and they seemed determined to gossip about the first-years. 

Hermione excused herself to change into her robes, and when she returned, she found Neville back in his seat.

"No toad?" she asked as he seemed to be empty-handed.

"No. Trevor seems to have disappeared."

The boy looked so forlorn, Hermione felt she just had to help.

"Let's look again. I'll come," she said. "We'll start at the back end."

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said as she opened one of the compartment doors.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said a red-headed, freckled boy impatiently. He had a smudge on his nose and his wand was pointed at a fat grey rat. Another dark-haired boy with green eyes sat opposite him.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it then," she said as she took a seat across from him. She was excited to see more magic, as she had only been able to read about various spells—not perform any—since she tried a few out during her visit to Diagon Alley. 

"Er – all right." He cleared his throat.

But then the boy began a sort of rhyme. Hermione knew most spells were initiated with a Latin word or phrase, so she couldn't keep a quizzical look off her face.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow," he said, and then he waved his wand. Absolutely nothing happened.

"Are you sure that’s a real spell?" she asked. It didn't sound like any spell she'd read. Had he even opened any of the books? Even if it was a spell, it clearly didn't do much.

"Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She realized she was talking a lot and very fast. All the nerves were catching up with her and she couldn't seem to stop.

"I’m Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry. Hermione was shocked. She had read about Harry and guessed he'd be coming to Hogwarts this year, but had completely forgotten. Now she was sitting next to the boy who had thwarted Lord Voldemort himself.

"Are you really?" she said. "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _ Modern Magical History _ and _ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _ and _ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century _."

"Am I?" Harry asked, with a dazed look on his face.

"Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. Discovering she was a witch had made her crave knowledge of the wizarding world. If she had learned she was a famous witch, she would've done anything she could to find out more. But Harry was looking uncomfortable, so she changed the subjected. He probably didn't want to discuss those horrific events on such a nerve-wracking day.

"Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad..."

Hermione could tell neither boy seemed particularly interested and she had been rambling again. Horrified at her inability to stop, she decided it was best to leave the two alone.

"Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon."

Neville and Hermione left the compartment, but just as she closed the door, she could hear Ron through it.

"Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it," said Ron.

Hermione felt stung, but pretended she hadn't heard.

"Let's go Neville..."

By the time they finished checking the train, Hermione suspected that Hogwarts was very near. She decided to go to the restroom at the front of the train, because she knew the sorting ceremony would take a while and she didn't want to miss _ any _ of it. While she was there, she asked the conductor how close they were to Hogwarts.

"Not much longer!" he replied.

On her way back to her seat, she noticed some sort of scuffle happening in Ron and Harry's compartment. As she approached, a boy with an angular face and bleach-blonde hair ran from the compartment and down the corridor, flanked by two other tall, larger boys. When she peered into the compartment, she saw the floor littered with candies and Ron standing up, holding the grey rat by the tail.

"What has been going on?" she said.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry, inspecting the rat. But then his eyes widened. "No – I don’t believe it – he’s gone back to sleep."

"You’ve met Malfoy before?" Ron asked Harry. Hermione recognized the surname as belonging to an old wizarding family.

"Yeah, he was rude to me when we met in Diagon Alley. Kept prattling on about Slytherin and stuff I didn't understand at the time. It didn't sit right with me," Harry explained. Hermione had gotten curious about the conversation and lingered.

"I’ve heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

Then, Ron turned suddenly to Hermione. 

"Can we help you with something?" he asked.

"You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. 

Hermione could tell Ron didn't like her at all. When she remembered his comment last time she left the compartment, she felt spiteful and added, "And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left the compartment. Hermione returned to her seat. 

A magically magnified voice could be heard through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Despite the distasteful interaction she had just had with Ron, Hermione couldn’t conceal her excitement. Soon, she would finally be at Hogwarts.


	4. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing the series from Hermione's POV. In this chapter, the first-year get acquainted with Hogwarts. Hermione is sorted!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an early draft and my first fanfic, so any feedback is encouraged. Still a WIP.
> 
> (Ngl, you can probably skip this chapter if you've read the book.)

##  CHAPTER FOUR: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

  
  


The train came to a halt and the students filed out of their compartments, through the corridor, and out into the night. Hermione exited onto a small, darkened platform, and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself to keep out the chill. 

There, on the platform, stood the largest man she had ever seen. Quite the opposite of the first wizard she had met—tiny professor Flitwick who delivered her acceptance letter—the man on the platform was nearly twice as tall as an ordinary one. Hermione might only come up to his bellybutton. He had a tangled mass of dark hair and knotted beard, which was made to look even more gruff by the light cast from the lamp he waved over the heads of the students.

"Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!" he boomed. Then he caught sight of Harry Potter and he broke into a grin. "All right there, Harry?"

Harry smiled and waved, and the tall man went back to gathering the students. 

"C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!"

Hermione joined the other first years and followed their guide down a steep and narrow path. Dark woods rose on both sides of them, and the shadows tottered wildly in the bobbing lamplight. All was quiet except for the sounds of footsteps and Neville's occasional sniff.

"Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec," their guide called out, "jus’ round this bend here." 

The students gasped as the path opened up to reveal an inky lake. Across it, on a tall mountain against the starry sky, stood Hogwarts castle.

"No more’n four to a boat!" the guide called as he pointed to a collection of small boats nearby. Hermione slipped into one of the boats with Neville, Ron, and Harry.

"Everyone in?" the large man shouted once he was squashed into his own boat. "Right then – FORWARD!"

All the students began rowing forward across the black surface of the lake. They all watched silently as the castle grew and grew on the horizon until they were right next to the cliff it stood upon. 

"Heads down!" the guide warned as they approached the cliff. Hermione ducked, and their boat slipped through a curtain of ivy. When she looked up, they were in a wide opening that marked the beginning of a long, dark tunnel underneath the castle. Eventually, the students reached an underground harbor, and they climbed out onto the stony bank.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" asked their guide who held up the croaking toad.

"Trevor!" Neville cried in relief as he was handed the toad. It was the first time Hermione had seen him smile.

Then, all the first years followed the huge man up a final passageway until, at last, the students gathered in the thick grass at the base of the castle. Up a set of stone steps, they waited outside a massive oak door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" the guide asked. Neville held up the toad, and the man nodded, raised his massive fist, and knocked three times on the door. It swung open to reveal a tall witch with black hair, wearing emerald-green robes. 

"The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall," said their guide.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." 

The door opened further, and, behind her, the students could see the massive, stone Entrance Hall. The walls were lined with flaming torches, and across them was a huge marble staircase. 

As they followed Professor McGonagall, the din of the other students, who must have already arrived, grew louder. But, instead of going to join them, she led the first-years to an empty chamber off to the side. Hermione stood, huddled with the others. Most were fidgeting nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. 

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

All the first-years began anxiously straightening their robes.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She then left the students alone in the chamber.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

"It's a test?" Hermione whispered to Neville. "Well, I guess that's a good way to sort out the Ravenclaws at least. I wonder what sort of spells we'll need. I've become familiar with quite a few already, but, of course, I haven't been able to actually practice many. But, if we've got to levitate something or maybe start a small fire or unlock a really simple lock I think I'll be fine. Of course, anything tranfiguration-related would be difficult, I didn't have many of the supplies I needed at home to even attempt those, though I am fairly familiar with the theory—"

Mercifully, something startling occured that interrupted Hermione's nervous rambling. All of the first-years gasped as about two dozen pearly-white, slightly transparent ghosts floated through the back wall and into the chamber, bringing a chill with them. They were all talking to each other and seemed to barely notice the students gathered there. 

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –" one began.

"My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

That ghost had just noticed the startled first-years. 

"New students!" piped the first one.

"About to be sorted, I suppose?"

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house you know."

But then McGonagall returned. "Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start," she said to the ghosts in a sharp voice, and the ghosts floated away.

"Now, form a line and follow me."

The first-years filed back across the hall and through the huge, double doors into the Great Hall.

Hermione gasped. She had read all about the Great Hall, but to see it in person was breath-taking. The room itself was huge. Four long tables stood parallel, and above them floated thousands of candles. At a fifth table across from the doors sat all the members of the staff. Each table was set beautifully, with golden plates, silverware, and goblets. 

Professor McGonagall led the first-years to the front, by the staff table. Hundreds of students and many ghosts watched them. Hermione noticed Harry staring at the ceiling, which looked like it wasn't there at all. Above them and the candles hung thousands of stars.

"It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in  _ Hogwarts: A History _ ," she whispered to him.

Professor McGonagall placed a small, four-legged stool in front of the first-years. Then, she put a ragged, dirty, pointed wizard's hat on the stool. Hermione wasn't sure what this was, so she eyed it nervously. So did nearly everyone else in the hall. And then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened and the hat began to sing.

_ Oh, you may not think I’m pretty, _

_ But don’t judge on what you see, _

_ I’ll eat myself if you can find _

_ A smarter hat than me. _

_ You can keep your bowlers black, _

_ Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_ For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_ And I can cap them all. _

_ There’s nothing hidden in your head _

_ The Sorting Hat can’t see, _

_ So try me on and I will tell you _

_ Where you ought to be. _

_ You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_ Where dwell the brave at heart, _

_ Their daring, nerve and chivalry _

_ Set Gryffindors apart; _

_ You might belong in Hufflepuff, _

_ Where they are just and loyal, _

_ Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_ And unafraid of toil; _

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_ If you’ve a ready mind, _

_ Where those of wit and learning, _

_ Will always find their kind; _

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_ You’ll make your real friends, _

_ Those cunning folk use any means _

_ To achieve their ends. _

_ So put me on! Don’t be afraid! _

_ And don’t get in a flap! _

_ You’re in safe hands (though I have none) _

_ For I’m a Thinking Cap! _

Everyone applauded once the song was finished. So, they have to try on the hat, and it decides their fate. Hermione was a bit disappointed that she wouldn't be able to perform some magic to test into a house, but she supposed this would be easy enough. Still, it seemed awfully nerve-wracking to do it in front of the entire school.

Professor McGonagall unfurled a large roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Little Hannah stepped out of line, sat on the stool, and put on the hat. After a short pause, the hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!"

In that way, the students began to be sorted. Soon enough, Hermione's name was called. She hurried to the stool and jammed the hat onto her head. To her surprise, she could hear the hat deliberating.

"Hmm, close one," it said. "I do think you'd do rather well in Ravenclaw. You're a smart one, you are. But, then the heart. You stand by your friends. Gryffindor calls you as well."

After a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity to Hermione but was not much longer than it had taken the other students, the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors cheered wildly, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She was rather pleased to be in Gryffindor. Smiling to herself, she sat at the Gryffindor table.

Neville, who fell over on his way to the stool, also joined Gryffindor and eagerly sat next to Hermione. He forgot to take the hat off, though, and had to return it to the front.

The boy with the bleach-blonde hair she had seen in the train corridor got sorted into Slytherin, along with his two friends. The Patil twins, surprisingly, were sorted into different houses: Parvati into Gryffindor and Padma into Ravenclaw. 

And then it was Harry's turn. When his name was called, the students broke out into murmurs. Apparently Hermione wasn't the only one who had forgotten his likely appearance at Hogwarts this year. The hat deliberated for a while, and eventually shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!". The Gryffindor table went wild, and Hermione and Neville joined in the celebration. Ron, much to his relief, soon joined them at the Gryffindor table. Finally, after a boy named Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, McGonagall put the stool and scroll away. 

And then, from the center of the staff table, Albus Dumblebore stood. He had a long white beard and half-moon spectacles, and he wore deep purple robes. Hermione had read so much about him and felt grateful to be studying at Hogwarts when it had such a talented headmaster. He was said to be brilliant, powerful, and wise. He seemed to be so pleased to have all the students back for the beginning of the school year.

With a smile and outspread arms, he said, "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words."

Hermione was hanging on every word, waiting to see what wise musings Dumbledore would impart.

"And here they are," he said. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Then he sat back down. 

Hermione looked around in confusion as all the other students cheered. Then her eyes widened as the dishes sprawled out in front of them spontaneously filled with the most delicious food she had ever seen. Lamb, beef, chicken, potatoes, bacon, peas, sausages, and just about anything else she could have desired. All the students began to pile the food onto their plates and shovel it into their mouths. When Hermione was chewing a bite of grilled corn, a silvery ghost with a ruff around his neck floated toward them.

"That does look good," he said sadly as he watched Harry cut up his steak.

"Can't you—?" he began.

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," the ghost said. "I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

Hermione had read that each house had a ghost, but hadn't read about Gryffindor's. She found the idea of ghosts fascinating and had many questions about ghosts' senses and presence, but before she could get any out, Ron spoke.

"I know who you are!" he said. "My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless Nick!"

The ghost looked stern. "I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –" he began, but a sandy-haired first-year named Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Nick looked annoyed, and spat, "Like this." He grabbed his left ear and tugged, and his whole head swung to the side, hanging onto his shoulder by only a few inches of flesh. 

All the nearby first-years looked shocked and somewhat horrified. Nick seemed pleased and set his head back on properly. He cleared his throat, and said, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable – he’s the Slytherin ghost."

"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asked. Hermione looked around and saw, next to a displeased Malfoy at the Slytherin table, a sick-looking ghost with his robes covered in silvery blood.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick.

Not long afterwards, the plates filled with a huge variety of deserts: berries, pies, tarts, cakes, eclairs, ice cream. All the students were quite full, but they all managed to eat plenty more. 

A tall, thin boy with red hair and freckles sat near Hermione. He was a prefect (and kept tell every first-year he saw), and Hermione also discovered he was one of Ron's older brothers.

"What does a prefect do?" she asked him.

"What doesn't a prefect do?" he responded, with air of self-importance. "I'll be guiding you first-years around and making sure everyone follows the rules in the common room and the halls. And so much more. What it means, really, is that Dumbledore trusts me completely."

"Do you need high marks to become a prefect?"

"Absolutely. The highest," he said.

"Well, I'm really looking forward to the classes. I do hope they start straight away. There’s so much to learn, — I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else. Of course, it’s supposed to be very difficult –"

"You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing —"

"Ouch!" Harry said, clapping his hands to his forehead.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing." Hermione noticed Harry looking toward the staff table, particularly at a professor with greasy black hair and a hooked nose, who was speaking to another frail-looking professor wearing a purple turban.

"Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he’s looking so nervous, that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to – everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Hermione continued to watch Harry for a while. It seemed that his scar had hurt, for the briefest of moments, but that he was quite alright now. 

Shortly afterwards, the desserts had been finished. The students were feeling warm, full, and sleepy. Dumbledore stood again, and the crowd quieted.

"Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore shot an amused look at a pair of red-headed Gryffindor twins, that Hermione took to be more Weasleys.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few students chuckled, but Hermione thought that sounded very grim. Of course, she knew Hogwarts would be somewhat dangerous, but what danger would cause them to close a whole section of the school for the year? 

"He’s not serious," Harry muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning. "It’s odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere – the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore added. 

Beside him, a sort of pained smile crossed professor McGonagall's face. Dumbledore flicked his wand and a golden ribbon shot out, spelling the words for the school song.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Everyone in the hall began to howl the lyrics:

_ "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, _

_ Teach us something please, _

_ Whether we be old and bald _

_ Or young with scabby knees, _

_ Our heads could do with filling _

_ With some interesting stuff, _

_ For now they’re bare and full of air, _

_ Dead flies and bits of fluff, _

_ So teach us things worth knowing, _

_ Bring back what we’ve forgot, _

_ Just do your best, we’ll do the rest, _

_ And learn until our brains all rot." _

It was a horrendous ruckus. All the students finished at different times. The Weasley twins were by far the last to finish, then everyone clapped and cheered, including Dumbledore.

"Ah, music," he said tearfully. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Then, Percy led the Gryffindor first-years through the Great Hall, which was now buzzing with students' chatter. They began to climb the marble staircase which was lined with portraits whose inhabitants would move and murmur about "Harry Potter". 

Their path to the common room felt very much like an obstacle course. The staircases would move a shift. Certain steps would vanish. Some doorways were hidden by tapestries or guarded by sets of armor. Other times, doorways would turn out to be walls cleverly disguised as doors. 

They even came upon a poltergeist: Peeves, invisible at first and carrying a bundle of walking sticks that seems to rocket towards students' heads on their own, when revealed, turned out to be a little man with dark eyes and a wide mouth. 

"Oooooooh!" he said, with a cackle. "Ickle firsties! What fun!"

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!" Percy warned.

Peeves stuck out his tongue, went invisible again, and dropped the remaining sticks on poor Neville's head.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they continued up the staircase. "The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

Percy came to a halt at the end of a corridor, facing a very large portrait of a woman in a pink, silk dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy replied. The lady nodded and the portrait swung open, revealing a large, round hole. The first-years all climbed through and emerged into the Gryffindor common room. It was round, warm, and cosy. There were many cushiony armchairs and a crackling fire. Two spiral staircases led up to the girls' and boys' dormitories.

Hermione and four other first-year girls climbed the girls' staircase and were met with five four-poster beds each with a set of curtains. Everyone was too exhausted to do much more than change and crawl into bed—though Hermione did squeeze in a few minutes with a book. Then she drifted off into a deep sleep. 


End file.
